


Chéri

by zmalikd



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-23
Updated: 2014-09-23
Packaged: 2018-02-18 13:47:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2350595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zmalikd/pseuds/zmalikd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>growing up AU: In which Louis lives far away, but visits every winter; and Zayn falls just a bit more in love each year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chéri

**Author's Note:**

> written for jo's birthday. i really hope you enjoy it, bby! ^^ beautiful cover art found [here](https://33.media.tumblr.com/9028ace672ab3a84fe4c70c0a12d7251/tumblr_ncdl266i5J1swvqtpo1_500.png) , by the ever talented falseidolls. fic soundtrack [here](http://8tracks.com/d3bonair/cheri).
> 
> note: i've made this fic entirely AU. even the cities the boys live in are completely made up/named myself. so pls don't be confused!

**01** It was a cold morning in early December, and at 56 Lindenberg Avenue, in a house that stood three stories high, Zayn was pulling a light winter sweater over his head. He stood beside his bedroom window, looking out on the narrow street outside. In front of the house across the way was a moving van; white, with rust coloring its front bumper. It was an ugly van that looked well at home on a street like Lindenberg, where the houses were pushed too close together, and the porches were all made of rotted wood. Zayn was only minutely interested in the moving van and even less so in whomever was moving. Like a crow on an electrical wire, he watched with mild fascination, and then left.

On the kitchen counter there sat a thermos of freshly brewed hot cocoa his mother had set out for him. Beside it: a book.  _Catch 22_  by Joseph Heller. Zayn must have left it at the top of the stairs again. He took both items, one for each hand, and set out into the cold wintry morning. He wasn’t going far, though. Just to the roof. At the age of fifteen Zayn wasn’t a child anymore, but wasn’t yet a man, and at this awkward adolescent age, his mother still feared for his safety. And since he quite liked her, he didn’t want to worry her, and so never ventured far. The roof was the only place he ever really went. It was flat and made of concrete, the perfect place for a garden, but instead of a garden, Zayn kept cats.

It began with Sonny: a large, fat orange cat who hadn’t started out fat, but thanks to Zayn he became that way. Sonny had had friends, a tabby and a calico who in return had friends of their own. Over the years what was once just one cat became five, then a dozen. They all liked Zayn an awful lot because he fed them five large steel bowls full of catnip each morning. He fed them because no one else would, and because they provided an excuse to get out of the house. He wouldn’t go as far to say that he loved the cats. If they never came again, he wouldn’t cry, but perhaps he would be a bit hurt. He did like them, that much was obvious. This morning, Sonny was not on the roof, but many others were. Zayn took the scoop from the catnip bag and filled each bowl halfway. Once finished, he went to the eastern side of the roof and removed one of the loose bricks from the ledge. Beneath the brick was a tattered, smashed pack of American Spirits. He set one between his lips, lit it with the old Zippo lighter he kept under the pack, and inhaled deeply.

He had found the pack of cigarettes in his mother’s bureau. They were old and tasted stale, but he liked them all the same. They had belonged to his father, whom he had not seen in over a decade. He couldn’t really remember him and only had old stories to live off of, and every story he heard all pointed to the same allegation: Zayn was quite lucky to have not really known him. Unlike many children who lose parents early in life, he didn’t feel that he was missing any particular part of himself, though he did often wonder what made him leave. Maybe it was because of his mother who was notorious for being a bit finicky, or his sisters who made it quite clear which parent they preferred. Whatever the reason, Zayn couldn’t find a just cause, and so didn’t really care. But he liked the American Spirits and how they made him feel older, more mature. He decided as he tilted his head back against the ledge of the roof, that he would smoke two before going back inside, and try and slip away after supper to have one final smoke. That is if his mother didn’t want evening tea.

It was nippy out. The wind wasn’t harsh, but what little of it there was seeped through his sweater and chilled him. His fingers were slightly numb, though not to the point of pain. He figured another fifteen minutes was all he had before the cold became uncomfortable. That was more than enough time for two cigarettes.

Opening his book, Zayn turned to the page he had dog-eared. He had barely begun reading when the howling began. An awfully loud sound that he recognized right away. It was Sonny, demanding with all his heart that he would not climb the fire escape to the roof. He would be picked up and carried up the ladder or so help him God he would howl until the whole city went deaf. It was only a matter of minutes before Zayn’s mother would poke her head out of the second floor window and shout to him to  _shut that cat up!_ To avoid his mother’s anger, Zayn hastily stubbed out the cigarette butt and peeked over the ledge. Sure enough, there was Sonny: perched at the bottom of the fire escape, his tail swishing back and forth behind his massive body. He looked up at Zayn with something like humor in his bright, feline eyes.

‘Bastard cat,’ Zayn muttered. ‘Knock that shit off.’

Like a poorly timed joke, or an act of vengeance, Sonny threw his head back and wailed.

Zayn huffed out a long, exasperated sigh. He flung one leg over the ledge and set it on the fire escape, but before he could begin his descent, a boy appeared on the ground below. Zayn smirked as the boy took Sonny into his arms, visibly struggling to lift the large cat who had now fallen silent. Once Sonny was pinned safely to his chest, the boy called up:

‘He belong to you?’

‘Kind of,’ Zayn shouted. ‘Mind bringing him up?’

‘I’m afraid I’ll drop him. He’s rather heavy.’

‘Didn’t you know? Cats always land on their feet. He’s a pliant fucker too. You don’t have to worry.’

The boy seemed to think it over. In the end, he ascended the ladder, very slowly. He was panting by the time he reached the top, Sonny having slipped in his arms. He was barely hanging on, his long cat body stretched at full length, his front legs nearly pointed to the sky. Even his little orange face was smashed against the boy’s chest, and still the cat didn’t wiggle. Pliant fucker, indeed.

The boy was very gentle when he set the cat down, then sat himself down in the middle of the roof. He brushed the hair out of his eyes and whistled. ‘You’ve a lot of cats.’

‘They aren’t really mine.’

‘You aren’t supposed to feed strays,’ he said with a smile. ‘They never leave.’

‘Yeah, I’ve realized that.’ Zayn shook a cigarette lose from his pack and put it in his mouth.

‘Aren’t you a little young to be smoking?’ the boy asked.

‘Probably. Want one?’

‘Sure.’

Zayn handed one over, waited until it was secure between the boy’s lips, then lit it for him. ‘Is that your moving van down there?’

Inhaling, coughing harshly, the boy nodded as he thumped a fist against his chest.

‘Don’t inhale if you aren’t used to the smoke. Why are you moving to Lux? No one ever moves here.’

‘My father’s moving, not me.’ He took a second drag and fell into another coughing fit. ‘These are horrible.’

Zayn ignored the comment, and instead asked: ‘If you don’t live with him, then where do you stay the rest of the time?’

‘Conway, with my mother. I offered to come for the holidays.’

‘That’s mighty stupid of you,’ Zayn said, but not unkindly. He was happy to see the boy didn’t take offense to it. As it was, Conway was part of the upper west side, two hours away by car, where only the wealthy could afford to live. Zayn had never seen the place himself, but only heard great things about it, and knew that only great people came from there. Never one to wonder about other people and who they were, he found himself wondering about the boy beside him. Was he someone great as well?

The silence was broken by a hearty yell from across the street. ‘ _Louis! Where’d you run off to?_ ’ The voice belonged to a burly man with scruff covering his face.

‘I gotta go,’ the boy said. He handed the cigarette back. It wasn’t even half done.

‘I’ll save this for you,’ said Zayn and carefully flicked the cherry off. ‘In case there’s a time you’ll want it.’

‘Alright.’

‘Louis, was it?’

With his feet on the fire escape and only his head above the roof’s ledge, the boy nodded. ‘That’s right.’

‘Zayn.’

They exchanged a smile.

Louis said, ‘See you,’ and then he was gone.

With only his eyes above the ledge, Zayn watched discretely as Louis ran across the narrow street, slipping behind the moving van and into the small house beyond. Then he put the partially smoked cigarette back into his pack and hid it beneath the brick.

‘I’ll see you tonight,’ he told the cats, and went home.

*

The next morning the temperature dropped and Zayn had had to discard his light sweater for something much warmer. It was an overcast day, clouds swarming the sky in every direction. It left the wind near freezing, but it wasn’t blowing half as hard as it could have on this winter morning. For this, Zayn was grateful.

On the rooftop, flat on his back against the chilled concrete, Zayn pillowed one arm behind his head and held his book open above his face. After a short while, a thin, small tabby cat curled up beside him. Zayn glanced down at her, she glanced up.

‘Morning,’ he told her.

‘Morning!’ a voice shouted back.

Shocked into silence, Zayn stared at the tabby whose ears now laid flat. She scurried to her feet and jumped onto the roof’s northern wall. There she cleaned her paw, her ears angled; she looked up and glared unhappily. Following her gaze, Zayn was only slightly surprised to see Louis’s head popped over the side of the roof.

‘Were you not talking to me?’ he asked, climbing up the remaining steps of the ladder. He had Sonny with him. ‘If you weren’t, were you talking to the cats, then? I hope that doesn’t mean your mental health is at risk, or something.’

Zayn flushed. ‘I was only saying good morning!’

‘Don’t get offended. I was only joking,’ and he smiled humorously. ‘This cat doesn’t like to climb, does he?’ He dropped Sonny onto the platform.

‘He’s lazy. He’ll get used to you carrying him, too. He’ll start waiting for you.’

‘That’s kind of nice in a way.’ Louis sat with his knees to his chest, his arms wrapped around them. He was wearing a jacket thicker than Zayn’s and had a scarf around his neck. He looked warm with cheeks faintly flushed.

‘Do you want your cigarette?’

‘Sure.’

They smoked quietly, watching the cats that played and those who fought. Louis asked their names, but Zayn hadn’t named all of them. Sonny was the first, so naturally he had been lucky enough to be named. But there were just too many others to keep track of.

‘That’s almost mean,’ Louis said, smiling. He smiled a lot. ‘I bet the other cats know who you favor,’ and he motioned to Sonny who was a motionless flop in the middle of the roof. ‘What’s that about?’ he pointed to Zayn’s book.

‘War.’

‘You like war?’

‘I guess. It’s interesting sometimes.’

‘You don’t talk a lot, do you?’

Zayn shook his head. He hadn’t yet realized he was flipping through the book anxiously, but once he noticed, he set it aside.

‘But you talk to the cats —’

Zayn glared at Louis. ‘You like to joke, huh?’

Louis nodded. ‘I talk a lot, too. Might be a problem for someone like you.’

‘No, that’s OK. You talk, I’ll listen.’

‘Only if you can promise to take a joke.’

Zayn snorted out a laugh, rubbing at the side of his face to block his smile. ‘Alright.’ He brought his knees to his chest and mimicked Louis’s stance. With his chin resting to his knees, he asked: ‘I was wondering if you could tell me what Conway’s like.’

‘Conway? Let’s see…’

According to Louis, Conway was boring but not a typical boring. It was Adult Boring. Everyone acted older than they were, and no one quite looked you in the eye when you spoke.

‘They say good day no matter the time, even if it’s night. They don’t say goodbye, either. Just good day. It’s noisy, too. There’s a train that goes through the city every hour. You don’t even need a watch, really. All you have to do is listen for the train.’

As Louis talked on, Zayn listened and before long he was able to imagine what Conway was really like. Perhaps it was boring to Louis, but to Zayn he pictured a place similar to old time England when people said things like good day and how do you do; where men carried canes and women wore long, flowing dresses. A modern version of Sherlock Holmes. He knew it was silly but to Zayn, Conway was a fantasy place far out of reach, somewhere he would never be. And like all fantasies: you are free to make it up any way you like.

‘You would probably like it there,’ Louis said. ‘At least a little. They have bookstores everywhere.’

Zayn turned his face toward Louis, feeling a bit puzzled. In all of Lux there was but one bookstore still opened after the decline in the markets. If it wasn’t for the library just east of Lindenberg, Zayn wouldn’t have any books at all. ‘Really?’

‘It’s weird, though. You can walk by five bookstores in a single outing, but never see anyone carry any books. Conway’s like that. I’m almost certain most of the buildings are just for decoration, to make the city seem intelligent, or something.’

Zayn smiled at that, burying his face against his knees. ‘I’d like to see it.’

‘Why don’t you go?’

‘People from Lux don’t generally go to Conway.’

Tilting his head, Louis asked, ‘Why’s that?’

‘Just how it is. I’ll probably stay right here forever.’

‘Don’t be that way,’ and he bumped his shoulder into Zayn’s. ‘Nothing’s forever.’

‘I guess not.’ Zayn stared at the clouds, unsure of where else to look. He knew his mother would need his help with breakfast soon and so rose to his feet. He told Louis, ‘I’m gonna go, but you can stay if you’d like.’

‘What, just sit on your roof all morning?’

‘If that’s what you want to do.’ He faced the fire escape, his back turned to Louis. He spoke hurriedly and a bit awkwardly for he was still unused to making friends, and didn’t know how one went about it. ‘You can come back whenever you want. I won’t mind. Even if I’m not here, that’s alright too. The, uh, the cats probably won’t mind either.’

Zayn was halfway down the escape when Louis shouted, ‘You really mean that, or are you just being nice?’

‘Both, I guess. I mean it, though.’

‘Even if I come, like…’ he narrowed his eyes as if challenging Zayn. His mouth was pinched. ‘Even I come every single morning?’

‘That sounds fine to me.’

Louis’s face relaxed. ‘Alright. I’ll see you in the morning, then.’

It was odd saying goodbye to someone sat on your roof, but Zayn did just that. He slipped away with a smile lingering on his face, feeling excited and anxious all at the same time. It wasn’t a feeling he was yet used to, but it was one he would soon become familiar with.

*

It was a week before Christmas when the snow began to fall. It came slowly at first; snowflakes that melted before they could reach your palm, and then grew heavy overnight. It was the morning of December 19 when Zayn woke to a knocking on the front door. His eyes were not yet opened when he stumbled down the narrow staircase and was greeted by Louis’s bright smile. He was dressed so warmly in so many layers he looked like a human pillow standing on Zayn’s front porch.

‘Why are you awake so early?’ Zayn muttered.

‘I saw the snow and got a little excited. Sorry,’ but he didn’t look sorry. ‘Go get dressed.’

‘What for?’

‘You’re showing me Lux today. I’ve been waiting weeks.’

Zayn groaned, rubbed a hand over his face. It was true. Louis  _had_  been waiting weeks, but Zayn was kind of hoping he would simply forget about his promise to show him the city. It wasn’t even that great, really, but with the snow it was at least pretty. So he nodded and told Louis to feed the cats while he dressed, and an hour later they were three miles north of Lindenberg Avenue, walking side-by-side through the small woods that lead to the Lux River.

It would be a few days more before the water froze; the two of them standing shoulder to shoulder, watched the gentle ripple of waves as the wind blew.

‘Oh,’ Louis dug a hand into his coat pocket, ‘I’ve something for you,’ and produced a pack of Marlboros. ‘I copped ‘em from my dad. He has so many packs he won’t notice they’re gone. I figured I owed you since I helped finish off the last of your smokes.’ He smiled warmly as Zayn unwrapped the cellophane.

‘You didn’t owe me anything. But thank you.’ Zayn offered Louis a cigarette and was refused.

‘I’ll smoke some of yours.’

They sat on the cold ground, legs crossed, sharing the cigarette and not speaking. They had the woods to themselves and a sort of intimacy had fallen over them. Zayn wondered what Louis was thinking of and almost asked, but it was Louis who spoke first.

‘Can I tell you something?’

Zayn looked to him wordlessly.

‘I don’t want to go back to Conway.’

Here Louis stopped talking. Zayn took the bait and asked, ‘Why not?’

It wasn’t until the cigarette was finished that Louis spoke again. ‘My parents are getting a divorce,’ he said softly. ‘That’s why only my father’s moved to Lux and not my mother. I think it’d be better if I stayed here, too.’ He took to hugging himself, leaning forward with his head bowed as if to make himself as small as possible. ‘I don’t get along with her very much.’

Zayn tried to imagine what would be so bad that Louis wouldn’t want to go home, and his head filled with awful things that made him anxious. ‘Is it bad?’ he asked quietly, unaware that he was now crowding around Louis.

‘She ignores me.’

And what could he say to that? What could be said at all that wouldn’t come off as condescending? Zayn loved his mom, and she never once ignored him and it was because of this that he could not, in any way, empathize with Louis’s feelings. Fretful, unsure of himself; Zayn sighed softly. ‘Well…’ is all he said.

Louis sat up. ‘Well, what?’ and watched him expectantly.

Later that night as he lay in bed, Zayn would think of a hundred things he could have said, but for the time being he sat in a stupor, staring Louis in the eye, unable to form a single thought. It was as if he could hear the seconds ticking by. The world was amplified in these few dramatic minutes: the ebb of the waves, the rustle of leaves; even the snow felt colder. He knew if he could not come up with something helpful in the slightest, all expectations Louis had of him would be shattered, left broken in a space between them that would only grow wider as Louis’s faith in him failed. Zayn, who had grown to like Louis very much, admire him in many ways, could not let this happen, so he did the first thing that made sense to him and very carefully, very tightly, wrapped his arms around Louis’s shoulders. He buried his face into the shoulder of Louis’s jacket, and held him.

‘What’d you do that for?’ Louis asked once Zayn finally let go.

‘I read somewhere that we need eight hugs a day, or else we become depressed. And…well, I don’t want you depressed.’

Louis stared emotionless for so long that Zayn feared he would be laughed at. And though Louis did laugh, it was not meant to be mean. It was a warm sound, accompanied by a sheepish sort of smile. ‘That’s nice, Zayn. Thanks.'

‘Sure.’

They continued to watch the water in a peaceful silence, only now Louis had inched closer and had rest his head to Zayn’s shoulder. Neither of them would speak until it was time to head home; chain-smoking cigarettes and watching the waves, Zayn thought of how oddly comforting it was to feel Louis against him.

Later, as they walked down Lindenberg, both tired and cold:

‘You know I’ll be leaving soon,’ Louis said.

‘Yes, I know.’

‘Will you write to me?’

‘If that’s what you want.’

‘And you won’t forget about me?’

‘How could I?’

It seemed as if all of Louis’s previous worries had melted away; he stood with his bright smile and his gleaming eyes. ‘I’ll come by later.’

Zayn waited on his front porch as Louis crossed the street to his own house. It wasn’t until he was inside that Zayn went home, and warmed himself with a fresh cup of cocoa. He tried not to think of the coming months that would undoubtedly be much lonelier than all the months before.

*

Louis left on a Saturday, left with a hug and a promise to write. He said he would be back; and it was knowing this that made it that much harder for Zayn to wait.

 **02**  For the next eleven months, Zayn wrote Louis a letter every two days, and received one every three. By the end of the year, he had accumulated over thirty letters which were all kept in an old shoebox beneath his bed. On nights that felt particularly lonely—which happened often—he would take them out and read his favorites, wondering all the while what Louis was doing.

It was the 2nd of December when he received the last letter of the year, and the 5th of December when he ascended the fire escape at a quarter to seven in the morning. It was much too early to be awake during winter break and even the cats were sluggish and unresponsive to his arrival. But today was the day Louis was coming to visit. Zayn  _had_  to be awake for it. He had been too excited the night before to get much sleep, but he felt rested, alert; ready to tackle Louis to the floor the moment he arrived. He sat on the ledge of the roof with his feet hanging off, twiddling his fingers in his lap and watching either side of the street. It was only ten minutes from the time he came outside that a car, distantly familiar, turned onto Lindenberg and crept along the side of the street. He knew the old grey sedan to belong to Louis’s father; excitement swelled inside him.

The car idled for a lifetime; fog from the exhaust billowed in the cold, windless air. Then, finally, the passenger door came open and with hair in need of a cut, in a sweater that seemed to swallow him whole, Louis stepped out. Zayn could tell just from the way he stood slouched that he had been sleeping, probably the whole way to Lux.

Without thought for the sleeping neighbors, Zayn cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, ‘Hey!’

And knowing without hesitation exactly who was calling him, Louis angled his face up toward the roof and shouted back, ‘I’ll be up in a minute!’ His dad was wrestling a suitcase from the backseat, and after helping him muscle it in the house, Louis darted across the street.

During the time Louis had been away, neither of them had called each other, for phone calls from Conway were considered long distance, and calls of that matter were very pricey. Letters were all they had, not to say they weren’t enough, but to actually hear Louis’s voice after so long was something entirely different. It made Zayn’s heart beat restlessly.

Louis, on the roof, not bothering to conceal his excitement: ‘Were you waiting for me?’

‘Maybe.’

He crossed the roof not quite at a run, but perhaps if there hadn’t been an obstacle of cats between them, he would have. He took Zayn into his arms and hugged him tightly, almost painfully. Zayn thought about telling him to lighten up, but that’s not what he really wanted. Louis was there again, he was real again, and Zayn wouldn’t have to be alone anymore. At least for a little while. He melted into the hug and held Louis back, feeling entirely too close and not close enough all at once.

‘I’ve something for you,’ Louis said. He lifted his shirt and secure in the waistband of his jeans was a book. He handed it over.

 _Johnny Got His Gun_  was the title.

‘War’s interesting. Right?’ He was beaming.

‘Sometimes.’ Zayn couldn’t stop from smiling. ‘Thank you.’

‘You’ve got something for me, too. Don’t you?’

‘Uh…’

‘A cigarette, maybe?’

Zayn went to the eastern wall, lifted the brick and took the smashed pack from under it. He placed two cigarettes in his mouth, lit them both and gave one to Louis.

‘How’ve you been getting smokes all this time?’

‘At school, there are a couple guys old enough to buy them. So…’

‘You’ve friends now?’

‘I’ve always had friends, Louis.’

Laughing, ‘That’s not what I meant!’ Then, ‘Can I meet them?’

‘If that’s what you really want. Sure,’ and it  _was_  what he really wanted. So two days later Zayn made a call to Niall, the only person he would really call a friend, and asked him to the meet them off Fifth Avenue.

Louis, as naturally outgoing as he was, warmed to Niall almost instantly, but what should have been a relief to Zayn came only as a burden. They met off Fifth and walked to the common where they kicked a football around for nearly an hour; Louis and Niall conversing over so many different topics that Zayn lost track. He wasn’t really listening, anyway.

The wind was harsh, nipping at Zayn’s nose; he warmed his face by burying it against his gloved hands. Louis, who watched him do it, took it as something it wasn’t.

‘Are you alright?’ he asked.

Zayn nodded. ‘Just fine,’ but his voice lacked enthusiasm. He didn’t have to look at Louis to know he didn’t believe him.

Following Niall who followed the sidewalk toward the shops and into town, they stopped at a small cafe. At a table hardly large enough for the three of them Zayn sat with his cappuccino pressed to his forehead. The cup was hot, he was cold; it felt wonderful. When Niall left for the bathroom, Zayn had his eyes shut, enjoying the warmth radiating from his coffee.

‘Are you going to say what’s bothering you?’ Louis asked softly.

‘I told you. I’m fine.’

‘Who do you think you’re kidding?’ There was an undertone of annoyance lining Louis’s words, and for whatever reason, Zayn found this amusing; he laughed quietly behind his cup.

‘Louis, do you think you worry too much?’

He narrowed his eyes, elbows on the table. ‘Maybe,’ he said shortly.

Zayn made an effort when Niall returned and was pleased by how easy it was to fall back into step with him. They hadn’t spent any time together since the start of winter break, but talking to him there in the cafe wasn’t any different than how it felt in class; it was nice. Only now it was Louis’s turn to stay silent, and he was so blatantly upset that when it came time to head home, Niall leant in and whispered, ‘I hope I didn’t say something wrong.’

‘No,’ Zayn assured him. ‘I think he’s just tired is all.’

Niall said he would call during break and they could set up another outing, Zayn said okay. Once he had gone and it was just the two of them again, the air felt a bit lighter, Zayn could breathe a bit easier. It was when they reached Lindenberg only a few paces from Zayn’s front door, that Louis stopped and said, rather accusingly: ‘You don’t want me around your friends, do you?’

Zayn wondered for how long Louis had been trying to decode him. ‘No,’ he said calmly. ‘That isn’t it.’

‘Then?’ It was obvious Louis would not budge from where he stood until he got his answer. With his arms crossed and his head tilted, he looked as annoyed as he sounded. Zayn had half the mind to keep walking just to see if Louis would follow, but he didn’t seem the type to chase after others. It was almost disappointing.

‘Then, nothing. It’s nothing.’ Zayn cupped the back of his neck, leaned his weight onto his right leg. He glanced fretfully between the sidewalk and Louis’s face which was frozen in a scowl. ‘It’s just…I’d rather you spend time with me than—well, than him. I guess.’

‘You mean, you’re jealous.’

‘I wouldn’t go that far.’

‘Hate to break it to you, but not wanting someone to spend time with other people is jealousy.’ He was smiling now, practically grinning. ‘You idiot.’ He swung an arm around Zayn’s neck and pulled him in.

‘Don’t make this bigger than it is.’

‘I’m not, but you are. You could have at least smiled a bit, huh? Pretended to have a good time.’

‘Did  _you_  have a good time?’

Louis paused for a moment, then nodded.

‘Then, so did I.’

Louis didn’t speak after that, but rather looked hard into Zayn’s face. It was a little overbearing with his arm still around him, their faces close enough that Zayn could see all the little thoughts and questions swirling just behind Louis’s eyes. It was quiet on the street; they could hear the neighbors inside their homes, cars from miles away. It wasn’t until a 757 roared overhead that Louis snapped out of his trance and moved away. He was laughing quietly under his breath.

‘When did you become so charming?’ he asked hardly loud enough for Zayn to hear. ‘If it’ll make you feel any better, we won’t spend time with anyone else as long as I’m here. Alright? Now, are you going to invite me inside, or what?’

They took to Zayn’s room and played FIFA 13 until sundown, then Louis left with the promise to return the coming morning. This is how their days went, week after week: they met on the rooftop, played with the cats before taking breakfast and leaving for the common. Some days they went to the river, and others they headed into town, but mostly they stayed on the roof, smoking cigarettes until they couldn’t anymore, talking about nothing that mattered. Zayn tried to forget that with each passing day they came closer to Louis’s eventual return to Conway, and their eventual absence from each other’s lives. He didn’t like to wonder anymore about what Louis did back home, because whatever it was, he wasn’t doing it with Zayn and that was not something worth thinking about.

On Friday evening, one week before Louis was due home, they lay on the roof beneath the cold winter sun; Zayn with his eyes shut, Louis, staring up at the overcast sky.

‘Have you a girlfriend yet?’ Louis asked. The question was conversational enough, though there was a catch in his tone that gave away how difficult it was to ask.

‘No,’ Zayn said without opening his eyes. They even stayed closed when Louis began pushing Zayn’s hair off his forehead.

‘Why’s that? Don’t tell me no one is interested, because I won’t buy it.’

He wouldn’t say that  _no one_  was interested, but nor would he say there was a line of admirers wanting to be noticed. Coming up on seventeen, Zayn had imagined by now he would have had his fair share of relationships, but it was a lot harder than it looked. He never quite found someone who could grab his attention or even his eye for that matter. And the thought of growing close to someone who would be undoubtedly replaced over time held no appeal to him.

‘There isn’t anyone I like,’ he eventually said, and since he was not looking at Louis he did not see the sadness that passed over his face. ‘What about you? Is there someone?’ and it wasn’t until the words left his mouth that Zayn realized just how interested he was to know. A very large part of him hoped Louis would say no.

‘Mmm,’ is what Louis  _did_  say.

“ _Mmm_? What the hell is  _Mmm_?’ Zayn sat up, glared. ‘Is that a yes?’ He didn’t understand why Louis was smiling the way he was smiling or why he looked so damn pleased, or why he even  _cared_  for that matter, but he did. ‘You would have told me if you were dating. Right?’

‘Right.’

‘So, you’re not. Right?’

Louis laughed, put both hands over his face. ‘Right.’

Zayn felt better for reasons unknown. ‘Well, why not?’

‘I haven’t found anyone who’s my type yet.’

‘What type is that?’

Faintly, ‘You,’ and he gave no time at all for Zayn to respond. Rising to his feet, he took Zayn’s hand and pulled at him. ‘Let’s get something to eat.’

But Zayn wasn’t hungry. He was confused and disbelieving and strangely enough, beneath it all, he was also delighted. Though he knew not to let himself believe something so silly. ‘Sure. What do you want to eat?’

They bought carry-out from the diner a block away and ate on Zayn’s bed, watching holiday films on the family channel. At a quarter to ten, Louis fell asleep with his head on Zayn’s stomach, successfully pinning him to the bed without anywhere to go. Luckily he had the book Louis brought him and with heavy eyelids, Zayn read until he could read no more, and fell asleep with the book open on his chest, his fingers tangled in Louis’s hair.

Half three in the morning, he woke to the sound of his name. Louis was beside the bed, his jacket zipped, hood up.

‘I didn’t mean to stay all night. I’m gonna go now.’

Zayn said nothing, he was already falling back into sleep and so couldn’t tell if the pressure of Louis’s hand on the side of his face was really there or not.

‘Zayn?’

‘Hmm.’

There was a faint tickle as Louis pressed his mouth to the middle of Zayn’s forehead. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ he said, and was gone without any explanation.

By now Zayn felt fully awake and could only stare at his bedroom door that Louis had closed as he went out, and wonder if he dreamt the kiss or not. He touched his forehead where Louis’s mouth had been and felt warmth radiating from somewhere inside him.

*

The days that followed weren’t any different than before, and neither of them spoke of what happened. It was as if simply  _nothing_  had happened at all. But when it came time for Louis to go, the longing Zayn had felt the year before had somehow intensified. It was now a physical pain like a punch to the gut, or the head, or maybe the heart. To look at Louis was to make the pain worse.

‘I really don’t want you to go,’ Zayn muttered.

‘Do you think I want to?’

‘When will you be back?’

‘A year.’

‘That’s too long.’

‘Maybe sooner.’

Zayn kicked at the ground and watched his feet. He couldn’t quite look Louis in the eye. ‘I want you to write to me right away.’

‘I’ll write as soon as I get home.’

‘No. Write on the way there.’

Louis rested his cheek to Zayn’s shoulder; he could feel Louis smiling. ‘I’ll be back,’ he said and slipped into his father’s car.

Zayn wasn’t particularly interested in watching the car leave, it only made it hurt more, but there he was alone on the sidewalk, following the sedan as it turned off Lindenberg. He felt a gaping hole form in his stomach and a soft ache rise in his chest. Already he felt so alone.

 **03**  Early evening, late June; the summer rain had finally come. The sky was a deep, depressing grey; the sun, shining dully from the west, was buried beneath blankets of cloud, and Zayn: on the fire escape, dressed in his heaviest coat, struggling to tie a tarp to the railing. When the rain first started, windblown and southbound, pelting itself against Zayn’s window, his first thought had been for the cats. Many of them had fled by now, but the few left behind were winding between his legs, meowing eagerly.

‘Just be patient,’ he told them.

He was making a shelter, albeit a poor one, and it seemed as if the cats knew exactly what the tarp was for. They pawed at him, staring up with their too wide eyes—all but one. Sat quietly at Zayn’s feet was Sonny, looking very bored.

‘You still talk to them, I see.’

In the midst of tying one corner of the tarp, Zayn startled. He did not speak.

‘Ignoring me, are you?’ Louis called up. He sounded much closer now.

Zayn pushed the tarp aside, looked to the ground and found Louis climbing the ladder. He had on a cotton sweater with the hood pulled up; and it was soaked all the way through.

‘What are you doing here?’ Zayn reached out and feebly touched Louis’s shoulder, unsure if he was really there.

‘You didn’t get my letter?’

He shook his head. ‘I haven’t gotten one in days.’ Then, quickly but not at all gracefully, he wrapped his arms around Louis’s shoulders, and pulled him to his chest. It was a wet hug, uncomfortable and cold, but it warmed him on the inside.

‘You really didn’t get my letter?’ Louis almost sounded worried. ‘Maybe you’ll get it tomorrow.’

‘Was it important?’

A pause, then slowly: ‘No, I guess not.’

‘Help me with this,’ and he released Louis as suddenly as he had taken him. Together they tied the tarp to the stairwell, creating a small space for the cats to dry. They both took a seat beneath the shelter with their feet dangling over the edge, rain soaking their sneakers. From beneath the tarp the rain was like bullets falling from the clouds, like pellets beating against the wind. It was hard to talk over.

Louis had his hands resting on his knees, finger shaking visibly. Taking one hand into his own, Zayn hissed. ‘You’re so fucking cold, Lou,’ and put his arm around Louis’s neck. ‘And you’re wet. Man, you’re gonna get pneumonia.’

‘It’s only rain water.’

‘Sure. Say that when you’re dead.’

Louis snickered, but leaned into Zayn’s side all the same, shivering. He had his cheek pressed to Zayn’s shoulder, breath tickling the underside of his jaw. He didn’t stop trembling, but it subsided enough that Zayn felt a little better.

‘So,’ he began, ‘what are you doing here?’

‘I’ve a car now.’

Pulling away, staring wide-eyed with excitement. ‘What, really?’

Louis smiled. ‘I had to bring documents for my dad to sign since apparently mum couldn’t wait until I came this winter.’ He scoffed, but it was goodnatured enough. ‘Anyway, I’m only here for the night. I thought I’d come see you. I was kind of afraid, actually. Thought maybe you’d be busy, or something.’

‘Right. What would I be busy with?’

‘I thought you’d be out with friends.’ Louis buried his face deeper into him. ‘I’m glad you’re not, though. I missed you.’

‘That’s nice, Louis. I missed you too.’

‘How was graduation?’

Zayn scoffed. ‘Dull.’

‘And have you enrolled in Uni?’

‘No. That shit’s not for me.’

Louis shrank away, glowering deeply. ‘What do you mean?’

‘How about we get coffee, huh? You’re still cold, you know.’

‘Are you gonna make it for me?’

Zayn wrinkled his nose, shook his head. ‘Fuck no,’ and smiled. ‘I’ll buy you a cup.’

‘I’ll buy it,’ Louis said. ‘I’ve a job now, too.’

So they climbed down from the fire escape and after a quick stop inside to tell Zayn’s mother where he was headed, piled into Louis’s car. It had leather interior and heated seats; it still smelled like the dealership. The radio was loud, the windows thick; they blocked out the sound of rain completely.

In a dark green laminated booth that squeaked under their wet clothes—Zayn sat on the left, Louis on the right—they ordered two black coffees.

‘What’s this bullshit about Uni, huh?’

Zayn waited until his mug was full, added two packets of sugar, then shrugged. ‘There’s nothing I want to do that requires schooling.’

Louis waited patiently to hear more. And a bit exasperatedly, Zayn continued.

‘I just don’t want to go. It’s as easy as that, Lou. I thought maybe I could work at a bookshop, or a library. I don’t need a degree to shelf books.’

‘No, I guess you don’t.’

‘You can’t even bitch, eh? It isn’t like you’re enrolled either.’

Louis, defensively: ‘That’s because I’m saving up for it!’

‘Yeah, and that’s good. Because it’s something you want.’

Louis scowled a little more, then his features smoothed as understanding came to him. He nodded, reluctantly. ‘Alright. But how are you going to buy me a house with library money?’

‘What, you want a house?’

‘Yeah. A big one.’

Zayn chewed the inside of his cheek, fingers thumping the table. Smiling, he said: ‘I’ll build you one out of books. How’s that?’ And he thought of Louis in a house of books; a very boxy house alive with color. He had to giggle. ‘The kitchen can be made out of cookbooks, and the bookshelves out of Encyclopedias.’

Playing along, and laughing just as well, Louis beamed: ‘You’d put a bookshelf in a book house?’

‘You can’t read the furniture, dear.’

He brought his hands to his face, muffling his laughter as Zayn tilted his head back against the booth. ‘You’re an idiot, you know that?’

‘Your bed would be made out of classic poetry. Plath, Bukowski and Cummings. Maybe even—’

‘Zayn, those are all sad poets.’

‘Yeah, but you sleep best when you’re sad.’ He brought his attention back to Louis and instead of a smile found him utterly serious. Not a trace of glee in eyes as if it hadn’t been there to begin with. ‘What is it?’

‘Nothing.’ He was staring into his mug. ‘It sounds nice, is all.’

They drank their coffee and played 20 questions. Zayn thought of a snowglobe, Louis thought of a flower; and the night ended with Louis on Zayn’s side of the booth, tucked under his arm, coloring in the pictures on a kid’s menu Zayn had asked for.

Back on Lindenberg, huddled together on Zayn’s porch.

‘Since you’re only here for the night, you’re staying with me. Right? I mean, you kind of have to.’

Louis rolled his eyes, but didn’t fight. Zayn hadn’t thought he would.

Sprawled horizontally at the end of the bed: Zayn with his arms spread eagle, feet on the floor. Louis was curled up by the pillows, his fingers in his mouth as he chewed his nails. Casablanca was on TV. So engrossed in the film, Louis didn’t notice when Zayn stretched his fingers, then his arm, reaching for his foot. But he did squeal when Zayn began tickling his toes.

‘Bastard! Cut it out.’

‘But I’m  _bored_.’ He flopped onto his stomach. ‘I can’t take this fucking movie.’

‘Shut up and watch it. It’s good.’

‘Come here, then.’

Louis’s eyes never left the television as he scooted down to the end of the bed. With his knees nestled up against Zayn’s body, he was close enough that Zayn could rest his head in his lap, and so he did. His eyes were open and he stared blindly at the front of Louis’s shirt, focusing on the feel of Louis’s fingers scratching softly at his scalp. He liked when Louis played with his hair. It brought tingles to his spine, made the hair on his arms rise; goosebumps all over.

It was only a matter of time before Zayn’s eyes grew heavy and then shut. He slept lightly, still able to hear the movie and feel Louis’s touch. Relaxed and boneless, he thought of how badly he wished to stay like this forever. And realized that this was all he wanted. Louis here. Always.

They slept in a heap above the covers; Louis’s head on Zayn’s chest, their legs entwined.

*

Dawn came and went with morning tea, and by 8 o’clock Louis was crawling into his car, bundled in a coat Zayn had given him. It was still raining.

‘When will I see you?’ Zayn asked through the opened window.

‘Soon, I hope. I’ll have to check when I’ll have time. You know, work and all.’

‘Right. No rush.’ He tugged at Louis’s earlobe, smiled. ‘Drive safe then.’ With his hands stuffed in his pockets, Zayn took three large steps back from the car and waited for Louis to drive off. But he didn’t. The engine wasn’t even on.

‘You alright?’ Zayn called.

Staring through the windshield, it was hard to tell if he had heard Zayn at all. Then he started the car and very slowly turned to him. Sat perfectly still, perfectly serious, he said: ‘I’m in love with you. Did you know that?’

Dry mouthed and completely still, ‘No.’

‘Well, now you do,’ and as if he had said nothing at all, Louis adjusted his seat and pulled away from the curb. He stalled for a long time at the end of the street as if unsure if he wanted to leave, but ultimately decided that he must.

Left in the middle of the road, hair dampened with rain, Zayn stared blankly at the curb where Louis had been parked. His hands began to shake inside his pockets.

*

He received Louis’s letter that same afternoon and read it three times before burying his face against it. It said:

 _I’ll be there this upcoming Wednesday (24)  
_ _There’s something I want to tell you._

 _love,  
_ _Lou_

 **04** Autumn didn’t really begin until October, but once it came, it was everywhere. The wind was boisterous, the early mornings were cold; fallen leaves peppered the streets with their hues of red and orange and the occasional faded green hidden among them. Zayn had always loved autumn most, but this year it wasn’t quite the same. He felt dull, he ached; it had been three months since he last saw Louis, but it felt so much longer.

He lost count of how many letters he sent, but had received six; and not a single one mentioned what Louis had said. It was as if each sentence was mindfully structured, purposely kept emotionless. It did little to calm him, and was mostly irritating. So many things inside his head he wanted to say, but couldn’t find the correct words, couldn’t write them if his life depended on it. Letters had never felt more impersonal.

For most of the summer, Zayn had spent his mornings on the roof, daydreaming with an unlit cigarette in his mouth until the humidity had chased him inside. Dozens of unread books lay in the corners of his house: on the stairs, in the dining room, even the bathroom. He took to lying around in various places: sometimes it was the front porch, and sometimes the foot of the stairs. His mother had found him here more often than not, found him staring at the ceiling thinking of nothing, thinking of Louis; moping.

‘You ought to get a job,’ she had said. ‘Time will pass a lot faster that way.’

‘How do you know I’m waiting for something?’

‘People don’t wait around for nothing.’

And so he got a job working the cashier line at the local grocery. He bagged goods for bitter customers and felt the pangs of their misery with every sigh. Their grey unhappiness flowed from them like currents; a deep seated sadness that dulled their eyes, and deepened their faces. And with each accidental touch and false smile, Zayn could feel their apprehension fill him as if their energy was mingling with his. For so long he had stayed hidden from the core of his city, and finally he was seeing it for what it was: which was nothing.

It was the longest three months of his life.

At the end of November, winter came early, and Zayn found it hard to keep himself smiling. It was on the first of December when he was first struck with a sense of dislocation, and inebriated by his own loneliness, had written Louis a letter. It said only one thing:  _something’s come up_.

December 10th and he was on the roof with Sonny beside him. The soft tickle of the cat’s tail touched his arm as he lit a cigarette and listened to the quietness of Lindenberg. He could hear muffled Jeopardy music play from the neighbors to his left, a dog barking in the distance; and after a while there came the soft rumble of a nearing engine. A car appeared at the end of the street, moving slowly as if creeping on tiptoes, and it was simply the sight of it that brought Zayn’s anxiety to a head. In all the months he hadn’t seen Louis, he had never stopped thinking of the letter and what had been said. To see him now was a reminder that Zayn couldn’t stay silent forever. Though he wished he could.

As Louis emerged from his car, Zayn tried not to think too much, but his fingers were shaking and it wasn’t from the cold. He inhaled sharply, pulled a long drag from his cigarette and stared at the pavement. Footsteps on the fire escape, Sonny growing excited by his side. One deep breath after another; Zayn’s heart was galloping.

And all too soon, Louis was there, but already the air felt clearer.

‘It’s fucking cold up here,’ he said, smiling. He wore a blue scarf and a heavy white coat. ‘Why can’t you sit inside like a normal person?’

‘We can, if you want.’

Louis sat beside him, swiftly taking the cigarette from Zayn’s mouth. ‘No, that’s alright.’ He sat with his knees to his chest, one hand in his pocket as the other held the cigarette. He puffed on it leisurely. ‘I got the whole week off. Took my vacation at work.’

‘How’s that going, then?’

‘Fine.’

‘I’ve a job now, too.’

‘You told me.’

Shoulders bunched around his ears, Zayn huffed. ‘I hate it.’

‘Most people do. Don’t worry too much about it.’

Zayn wanted to say more, but then Louis was resting his head to his shoulder, and the weight of his presence felt like a homecoming, like something euphoric. ‘I missed you,’ is what ended up coming out of his mouth. The words hung in front of him like neon. There was something different in the way he said them this time, and Louis felt it.

‘You’ve been lonely, haven’t you?’

‘You can tell?’

‘It shows in your writing.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be,’ Louis assured. When the cigarette was finished, he tossed it over the ledge. ‘Is this what you wanted to talk about?’

‘Sort of.’ Now, this was the hard part. Zayn had ran it through his head numerous times in the last week and a half and hadn’t found an easy way to say what he needed to say. Better to just let it flow out, better to get it over with.

It was hard to speak with a lump in your throat.

‘Louis, I’m moving.’ The head on his shoulder lifted; he didn’t have to look to know Louis was glowering. ‘I already made arrangements and, uh, well…I have an apartment set up away from here. I can move when I want, but I needed to talk to you first.’ He looked up, looked to Louis and was gutted by the utter forlorn in his eyes.

‘Will I see you?’

‘Probably not. But maybe.’

Louis stared hard as if trying to find the meaning of it all, like it was a joke that he hadn’t yet caught the punchline to. ‘Probably not?’ He sounded angry. ‘What the fuck does that mean?’

As awful as the situation was going, Zayn was horrified to find himself laughing. He was uneasy, nervous; it really wasn’t his fault that he started giggling. Call it natural reaction. Louis didn’t find it funny, though.

He got up, ruffled his coat like a bird ruffles its feathers, and stormed off.

Zayn shouted for him to wait, but he was already gone. Down the fire escape, two rungs at a time; Louis was moving so quickly he was panting. Small puffs of cloud formed in front of his mouth as he jumped from the bottom rung, but Zayn was close behind, all but chasing him as his heart crawled into his throat and started to choke him.

‘Let me finish,’ he pleaded, taking Louis by the wrist and yanking him hard.

‘You could have just wrote, you know. Or called. You didn’t have to bring me out here for this.’

Squeezed in the small space between Zayn’s house and the neighbors, it was dark and hard to tell what expression Louis wore. But his voice was depleted, his slight frame almost tremoring. Zayn’s first reaction was to wrap his arms around Louis’s shoulders, but he was afraid he’d get hit for it. He settled for pulling him closer instead.

‘I want you to come with me.’

Louis’s fingers twitched. ‘Don’t be stupid.’

‘It’s not stupid.’

‘I can’t do that.’

‘Why not?’

He fell silent. Zayn thought perhaps he was searching for an excuse, but knew he wouldn’t come up with one.

Zayn came a bit closer and lightly touched Louis’s cheek. ‘You have every reason to leave Conway. You aren’t happy there, anyway. But, if you don’t want to, that’s alright.’

It was so long until Louis’s reply that Zayn didn’t think he’d speak at all, and once he did, Zayn could hardly hear him.

‘I won’t have a job.’

‘You’ll find one.’

‘I haven’t any money.’

‘I have enough.’

Louis backed away until he was leaned against the side of Zayn’s house. He picked at his fingers and stared at the ground. ‘It’s scary.’

‘It doesn’t have to be.’

It was in the silence that followed that Zayn realized these weren’t excuse, but coverups. When it came to hiding, Louis was so damn transparent. He hooked a finger under Louis’s jaw, tipped his face up. Looking down at him Zayn could see the worry in his eyes.

‘What is it really, huh?’ Zayn leaned in; the tip of his nose brushed against Louis’s. This close, it was hard to identify personal space. ‘You can tell me.’ Leaning in even more, nose nuzzled into Louis’s cheek, and Louis: shaking. He’d inhale, and he would tremble. Zayn merely pressed himself closer.

‘I don’t want you to tire of me,’ Louis whispered. There was pain in his voice. ‘What happens if you start hating me?’

‘Why does it have to be that way? You know, it’s possible it’d work just fine’

‘Sure. But everything’s eventual.’

Zayn placed both hands on Louis’s face, tipped his head back further. ‘Once you said you loved me.’

‘I do.’

‘Then trust me.’

Louis sighed. A deep, heavy sound from the very bottom of his lungs. ‘You won’t desert me?’

‘No.’

‘You’ll take care of me?’

‘Of course.’

‘Will you let me take care of you?’

‘Eh, I don’t kno—’

‘This isn’t a joke, Zayn!’

‘Fuck, alright,’ but he was laughing again. ‘You worry too much, Lou. You’ll end up having grey hair before you’re thirty.’ He got a solid punch on the shoulder for that one. And the only thing he could think to do while his shoulder throbbed and Louis scowled was wrap his arms around Louis’s lower back, and pull him in.

Louis was chewing on the corner of his mouth, his hands flat on Zayn’s chest. ‘Do you love me?’ he asked.

‘Yeah.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Well, you sped off, didn’t you? I couldn’t chase after you and shout it. I was, like, fucking shocked.’

‘Fair enough.’ There seemed to be something more Louis wanted to say, but he never got a chance to say it. Zayn took one look at his small, faint smile then pressed his lips to Louis’s mouth. He was warm all over.

It lasted a whole five seconds before Zayn pulled away, but just as he did, Louis flung his arms around his neck and latched back on. Open mouthed, heated kisses as he tangled his fingers in the back of Zayn’s hair. And Zayn: burning up, the pit of his stomach on fire; he wondered if Louis could feel how hot he was, if the way Louis’s mouth trembled was a good sign or not.

As quickly as it started, it stopped. Louis shoved Zayn away and pushed off the wall, already turning his back and heading for the street.

Zayn would follow if he felt that he could.

*

He left the next morning; Zayn fought him to stay, but in the end had to let him go. He promised to return in two weeks with everything he needed. Zayn told him to pack lightly.

 **05** On his last morning in Lux, Zayn went to the roof and removed the brick from the eastern wall for what would be the last time. There his crushed pack of Marlboros lay, essentially untouched. There were only two missing. He lit one and placed another behind his ear for when Louis would undoubtedly ask for it.

A wave of nostalgia struck him as he sat on the ledge with his feet dangling off. The narrow road of Lindenberg, covered in ice and flakes of snow, lay empty. It looked much lonelier than it ever had before, and he had to wonder when would be the next time he’d see it.

Across the street was Louis’s car with the passenger door open. Even from such a great height, Zayn could see through the backseat window the cluttered mess that filled the car: cardboard boxes and duffle bags stacked on top of each other. The trunk was kept empty for all the things Zayn would take, but he had only a single bag filled with the trinkets and clothes he would need. Lux was a place he would leave in the deepest corners of his memory, and if at all possible: forget completely.

From this day on, he would build his own world, and it would be centered around Louis, and it would be theirs.

Louis came out of the house, and with his hands cupped around his mouth, he shouted: ‘Are you ready?’

‘Come up for a minute,’ Zayn shouted back. And so he did.

He sat on the ledge with his head on Zayn’s shoulder and an arm around his back. He took the cigarette from behind his ear without word. ‘What are you up here for?’

‘Thinking.’

‘About?’

‘You.’

Louis snorted, ‘You’re such a romantic,’ and lit the cigarette.

Zayn put his face against Louis’s neck, and sighed. ‘I guess you were right when you said nothing’s forever.’

‘Well, it’s true.’

Zayn hummed.

‘But, you know,’ Louis said slowly, ‘even though it’s very impossible for anything to last such a long time, maybe…we could.’

‘You think?’

‘I hope.’

A wide grin spread across Zayn’s face and no matter how hard he tried to suppress it, he couldn’t. ‘I’ll think we’ll do just fine,’ he said, and taking Louis’s face between his hands, kissed him hard.


End file.
